


The Portraiture of Tony Stark

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel
Genre: Declarations Of Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutually Unrequited, Talk About Art, Winteriron Holiday Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5501711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky may not be an artist like Steve, but when he looks at Tony, he gets an itch to paint a portrait and fill it with every detail, every beautiful flaw he's fallen in love with. He wants to capture it all because he knows there's no chance for him to touch with the kind of reverence Tony deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Portraiture of Tony Stark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plirio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plirio/gifts).



> This is also part of the [Winteriron Holiday Exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/winterironholidayexchange) for [plirio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plirio) (if it wasn't already obvious). Thanks to [Kitty](http://it-just-slipped-out.tumblr.com/) and my sister for beta reading this monster of a story. Thanks to all who read, and have a happy Christmas!

Bucky may not be an artist like Steve, but exposure to the punk taught him a thing or two.  The big picture tells the story, and the details tell you the tone of the story, of what’s just underneath the surface. A smile makes one seem open and sociable and generally fun to be around. It's the tightness in the eyes, the stiff shoulders, the clenched jaw that really say _I don't want to be here._ Despite it being a charity function, this gala is full to the brim with stiff smiles. It's a shame, seeing as how these people don't have nearly as terrible a life as he does. They have money, family, fame, respectability among the public. They've never had to justify their existence to a board of politicians, looking for someone to blame in the wake of disaster. They’ve never had to justify their existence to the media, to audiences that were scared of everything because of that media. They've never had to justify their existence to themselves.

Well. Perhaps his fellow teammates have, from all that's unsaid at movie nights and around the dinner table. Barton gets twitchy about the New York Incident more than the others, and Tony likes to hide in his workshop whenever someone brings up Afghanistan on the TV. But the Avengers aren’t here to be convinced their money can save lives. Instead, they're doing the convincing. And Bucky is just counting down till he can hide back up in his room, on his and Steve's floor, and pretend that maybe his life is more normal than it actually is.

He scans the room for the umpteenth time, checking the exits before picking out the genuine from the attention whores, the philanthropists from those who just want their ego stroked. A burst of laughter to his right catches his attention, and he suddenly finds his focus zeroed in on the Avengers' own philanthropist. Tony Stark is standing tall, holding his head high, after what seems to have been a very successful joke. His megawatt smile definitely blinds his surrounding admirers to the pain he’s trying to bite back. The corners of his mouth twitch from holding the smile too long, and one shoulder is held stiffly, pointed away from the group so no one is in danger of jostling it. Even his hand, holding his glass of something looking like scotch – but Bucky knows it isn’t, after Tony unceremoniously dumped his whole bar down the sink – his hand tremors so slightly.

Even if Bucky hadn't been there just this morning to see the Doombot pummel Tony out of the sky, anyone with a brain can see how much Tony doesn’t want to be here. And without the medication the doctor prescribed and Tony firmly ignored, Tony's looking a little more ragged and a little more rattled than he probably prefers. But the crowd presses closer in around Stark, eagerly eating up his words and absorbing whatever traces of fame they can get.

Piranhas.

Bucky grits his teeth. Stares a bit longer at the rather ostentatious tie Tony dares to wear – further distraction from the man himself, no doubt. Makes a decision. Takes a deep, fortifying breath. Puts on his own smile, probably more obviously fake. He maneuvers his way carefully across the room, his eyes never leaving Tony. As he reaches the edges of Tony's undesired flock, the engineer's eyes jump over and settle on Bucky. The pain remains, but he can see the tension slowly giving way to relief. The smile, formerly brittle, warms and widens. Knowing he caused that gives Bucky some inexplicable warmth, as well. And if he had any doubts of giving the guy an out before, he certainly has none now.

“Barnes!” Tony exclaims with a bit more enthusiasm than is probably warranted. Heads turn curiously to get a look at Bucky, some with more heat in their eyes than others. Normally, Bucky balks at this attention, but Tony’s had it all on him for a good long while. He deserves a break. “No longer a member of the wall-flowers club?”

Bucky feels his smile gentle in return, never looking away from Tony. “Yeah, turns out I can't afford their jackets.” Some chuckles ripple through the group, which is confusing because that joke was terrible by Bucky’s standards, but Tony is the apex of it all. His giggles bring the warmth back to the forefront and distract Bucky from his mission for a brief moment. Tony's wince when someone bumps into him soon snaps him out of it, puts him back on course. “Hey, have some important business to talk about. You got time?”

“For you, sweetums, I've got all the time in the world.” While Bucky breathes through what is definitely not a blush – he used to be as natural a flirt as Stark is now, so this shouldn’t fluster him so easily – Tony looks back at his accumulated fans and goes back to using his showman smile. “Please excuse me, and hope you're enjoying your evening.” He smoothly steps away and points himself towards an emptier corner, and Bucky easily falls into step beside him. Soon enough, it's just the two of them and some extravagant-looking ficus. Bucky's not sure what to think of it.

“Why would you grow a tree indoors?” Bucky blurts.

Tony blinks, turns briefly to consider the tall plant. “Huh. Not sure. Some perverse 'connect with nature' shtick, maybe? I dunno, Pepper's the one who engineered all the decorating for the Tower. For the best really. Every floor would be a workshop floor if I were in charge.” Tony turns back, frowns at Bucky in concern. “Is it your arm?”

“What?”

“The business. Avengers-related and it would have been Steve pulling me out of there. Company-related... well, unless I caused it, Pepper usually ignores me and handles it herself. Not to mention you're not really a big fan of losing sight of the exits.” Tony's face blanks before he rushes, “Not that it's a horrible thing to do, totally cool that you've got our backs even when we're supposed to be relaxing, just thought crowds weren't your thing and will you put me out of my misery before I dig myself into a deeper hole?”

Bucky smiles at Tony's flustering. “You're fine, Tony. Nothing's wrong with the arm. Just thought you'd like a breather from your _fan club_ over there.”

“Oh.” Tony blinks in surprise, then smiles, completely relaxing into it. “Good eye. Thought I'd have to try for the bathroom, and there's nothing really suave about declaring your bladder needs emptying. For the third time in two hours.” His lips twitch to the side, some mirth leaving him. “Almost considered retreating to the bar.”

Bucky nods, holding back a wince. “Then I caught you at the perfect time. Their water tastes like plastic. You would have hated it.”

Tony's smile turns grateful. “Yeah, probably would've.” He pulls his hands out from his pockets and flaps vaguely at Bucky's arm. “Whip it out, lemme take a look.”

Bucky raises a brow, giving a smirk he recalls worked on the ladies. “I ain't that easy, Tony. At least buy me dinner first.”

Tony chuckles, shakes his head. “Careful, Barnes. Not nice to lead me on.” His voice goes softer, like he’s sharing a secret. “Less suspicious if it looks like we're actually working on something important. Plus, might attract Steve's attention, and Steve looks about ready to hide under a table or something. He could use a break, too.”

Bucky nods, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “We could all use a break, I think. Clint looked 'bout ready to gouge that Senator's eyes out, and Nat probably already has several eyes in her possession.”

Tony takes Bucky's jacket for him, tosses it onto one of the sturdier branches on the ficus. “Hey, if it'll get these people to donate and leave faster, I'll provide the spoons.” He jumps forward when Bucky offers up his arm, business as usual. He rests Bucky's wrist in the palm of one hand, smoothing the other over the plates. A moment passes between them in silence, before Tony tenses slightly and speaks up. “Been thinking. We already know there's a catch up in the pit area to detach the arm. Maybe I can work on that new model? One more lightweight and flexible? This one is definitely not doing your spine any favors.”

They've had this argument before, and in far less civilized tones. But despite his stubbornness, Tony has never been anything less than respectful, his reasoning always on the side of Bucky's health. It's Bucky who pushes it past the line, Bucky who lashes out and turns it into personal jabs. Maybe it's the soirée's theme, maybe it's the lighting, or maybe it's the backdrop of that ridiculous plant, but Bucky's feeling far more charitable towards Tony and his genuine concern. It’s true, after all, everything Tony's saying. A quick scan of his back showed that, despite Zola's serum, his discs were thinning out from the weight faster than they could repair themselves. And after a standoff with gigantic beetles last winter, of all things, something happened to limit his range of motion in the prosthetic. So really, it's just logical to have it repaired at the very least.

But as Bucky stares down at how carefully Tony cradles his arm, he's struck with the sudden desire to feel that sensation. Not just the pressure and the heat, but the calluses and nicks he knows stretch across those hands. And that's never happening if he sticks to a HYDRA model. It's an opportunity, really, to get all of that and maybe even take another step towards moving on from what happened to him. And maybe he can then get his head out of his ass and actually do something about this crush he has on the man standing so close.

“What would it take to make it send more detailed signals?” He manages to ask. “Y'know, a more two-way communication kinda thing.” It's silent long enough that he worries he said something wrong, so he looks up. What he's met with is instead a look of surprise and excitement. A surge of warmth goes through him, knowing he did something right, something that put such a wondrous look on Stark's face.

Tony snaps out of the surprise soon enough, but the excitement never leaves him. “You mean pressure and heat sensing? Thought you already had that sort of thing.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No heat, it puts off a great deal already because of the power source, and that probably would have thrown everything out of sorts. The pressure sensing is minimal at best. I know not to break anything, but fine motor skills feel like I'm wearing a thick glove, unless I concentrate. So tying my shoes takes longer than I'd like.” A sigh slips unbidden from his lips. “I'm missing out on a lot of the details.”

Tony's scrutiny softens into something Bucky can't exactly parse. “Hm, yeah. That probably does suck.” He narrows his gaze back onto the arm, stands there staring for a minute. “Yeah, pretty sure that's doable. If I remember correctly, the neural connections were already made and just haven't been utilized. Like it was on the HYDRA to-do list, before you and Steve tore them apart the second time around. Heat sensing should go hand-in-hand with that.” He smiles, looks back up to Bucky. “And once all that is done, we'll put something other than that hideous star on the shoulder. Something more patriotic, I know you sleep with the flag every night, sing the National Anthem every morning.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to hold back a smile and ultimately failing. “Think you're mistaking me for Captain America's plucky sidekick. That ain't me.”

Tony chuckles, letting go of Bucky's arm. “Really? So who's been following after Capsicle like a little lost duckling?”

“No one, I hope,” Steve finally joins them, his smile already looking more genuine than it did with that busty debutante who clung to him for a whole half hour. “I'm not the mothering type.”

“It's true,” Bucky agrees as he buttons up his shirtsleeve, “he's terrible at taking care of himself. Burnt water back in the Depression. And has no idea how to pin clothes to the line.” He shakes his head in mock shame, grabbing for his suit jacket. “He's a mess, really.”

“You're one to talk.” Steve turns to Tony, jerks a thumb over to Bucky, “This jerk can't make a bed to save his life. And he leaves his stuff lying around everywhere. Our floor looks like a disaster area.”

“Whatever you say, punk.” Bucky pulls the jacket on, lets it settle on his shoulders before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “All those disgusting tube socks are yours.”

“Please, you say they're mine so you don't have to clean them.”

Bucky turns his nose up. “Nope, my socks are nice and clean. I even use fabric softener. They smell like Tropic Seabreeze.”

Steve shakes his head, his smile fond. “You're such a jerk.” The smile subsides as concern takes over. “Something up with your arm? Didn't think you took a lot of damage on that side today.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I didn't. I just gave Tony an out from his _adoring fans_ and we got on the topic of a potential upgrade.”

Steve frowns, turns to Tony. “Upgrade? Thought you said it was too dangerous to tinker around. Something about too many potential traps.”

Tony shakes his head. “No, yeah, it's not tinker-worthy... well, it is, but JARVIS already identified areas that could be harmful to my person and has sworn to lock me out of my workshop if I choose to ignore them. No, I'd be replacing the whole arm.”

“Really? You mean you guys actually stopped bickering like an old married couple? I'm impressed.”

Bucky groans, covering his face with his hands in the hopes of stifling his blush. “Shut up, punk. We weren't bickering.”

“Absolutely no bickering,” Tony agrees. “Just good ol' gentlemanly arguing.”

“With a bit of childish screaming thrown into the mix, huh?” Steve chuckles, shakes his head. “Whatever, all that matters is that by some miracle, you two actually agreed on something.”

“We agree on things.”

“I'm happy to see you two get along finally.”

“We agree on things!” Tony begins to fluster.

“Well, I have to go make sure Natasha hasn't gone and killed anyone.” Steve claps a hand on Tony and Bucky's shoulders. “Glad to see you guys working together.” And without looking back, Steve makes his way back into the fray.

“We agree on things!” Tony yells after Steve. He turns to Bucky. “We totally agree on things.”

Bucky nods. “You can't compare Star Wars to Star Trek, when they're actually two different genres.”

“And Cobb is totally still dreaming at the end.”

“Actually, I read this theory that's really convincing...”

“Not you, too!”

-*-

Steve always said, when he was in the artsy mood, that the goal of a portrait was to capture the subject's motion. It made no sense the first time he said it, and Bucky's pretty sure it still makes no sense, but he thinks he has some sort of idea as he watches Tony work away on plans for the arm. Most would argue that stillness is impossible for a Stark, but Bucky has seen Tony sit for hours without moving anything but his hands. He just sits there, one leg tucked underneath him and his back slightly hunched, head bowed as if in prayer. It's fascinating, Bucky notes, that the only motion, besides the arms working away, is in the ribs. Tony breaths in, he breathes out. His ribs push out; they settle back in place. Occasionally, he sighs, or his breath shudders. Motion is a sign of life. No motion in a portrait, then no life. Is that what Steve’s getting at? Bucky's probably way off the mark, but it doesn't really matter, does it? He's not the artist. He doesn't even know why he's getting all romantic and dramatic in his head.

Well, okay, he knows. It’s just not that easy, admitting to himself that he fell for his best friend’s other best friend.

It's peculiar, really. Everyone expected Tony to hate him. He had plenty reason to, Bucky can barely recall. He didn't have to turn his home, his money, his time and attention to this ex-assassin. Bucky killed people and never once tried to break the programming that caught a hold of him.

 _You ever thought why that was, though?_ Tony had asked him one day when Bucky was still walking on eggshells, before he finally felt like he had a home again. _I mean, look at you, Buck. You don't take anyone's crap. Anyone tries to pull a fast one on you, you basically gut them. Oh, don't give me that face, you know I don't mean literally. Point is, Sourwolf, they had to have broken you beyond repair. They tortured you, who's to say they didn’t do something, say something that turned everything in your life into a living Hell? Something that made you feel like... well, that it would be better not to feel?_ Tony's eyes are always wide and piercing when he actually tries to comfort Bucky, and that was how his eyes had looked right then. _Sure, you had a lapse in judgment, but under that amount of stress, that amount of torture and agony? No one will ever,_ ever _hold it against you. Not if I have anything to say about it._

It wasn't an instant cure kind of talk. Nothing ever is. But it did open his eyes to many things. First, there are millions of other memories that he hasn't got back that are probably worse than what he already has. Second, he doesn't have to feel guilty for things that he can't even remember, because the past is past. Third, Tony has never looked more beautiful than when he has jumped to the defense of his friends, even when he's defending them from themselves. And, as an aside, Tony can empathize better than most, if his halting tales about him pre-Iron Man are anything to go by.

It feels natural, given those circumstances, that he wishes he was a painter right in this moment of stillness, of Tony's stillness.  He's never reached for anything other than a pencil and paper to write something or make some lazy doodle of spirals and lines, but when he watches Tony at work, alive in his stillness, his hand twitches for Steve's charcoal and sketchpad. He wants to capture the curve of Tony's torso, the length of his spine. He wants to render how carefully Tony's legs are tucked away, the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck. He wants to capture it all on paper because he knows there's no chance for him to touch with the kind of reverence Tony deserves.

It's never been a revelation, this desire to touch. Well, maybe at first with Tony specifically, but to touch a broad chest and a stubbled jaw? That was a normal, rarely-filled desire back before the War.

Steve knows, has sort of always known. _It makes some kinda sense,_ he'd said when Bucky dared to speak up. _You've never really been the type to limit yourself._ Things are different now and Bucky limits himself on plenty of things, but he's never backing down from this. Especially now that it won't get him killed or thrown in jail.

What it can get him instead is a whole lot of awkward, at least with Tony, and that’s him being optimistic. Nothing indicates Tony is even remotely less than straight. So what if he flirts with everyone? That's just a natural thing for him. Anything that has a pulse is a potential target for Tony's charm and wit. If Bucky is stupid and dares to cup Tony's jaw, Tony will just back away, give a sad smile and a _thanks but no thanks_. Or worse, _what the fuck, get out of here._ If Bucky wants his heart broken, the slow burn he's got going for himself right now works just fine, thank you very much. He's always preferred to take the bandage off slowly.

“Hello, Earth to Bucky.”

Bucky snaps out of his grossly depressing thoughts to see Tony looking at him curiously. “Hey, welcome back. You wanna look at what I've got? See if it fits?”

“Huh?” Bucky frowns, looking at the model. “It's a hologram, how can you tell if it fits?”

“It's a simulation I've got JARVIS running. You test it out, I'll examine the results, make any necessary tweaks.”

Ah, that makes sense. Bucky stands and makes his way to Tony's side. “You'll account for the decreased range of motion, right?”

“Obviously,” Tony looks over in mock offense. “I'm a genius, after all.”

Bucky hums in amusement. “Sure. Genius who keeps forgetting that he needs to eat and sleep to function.”

“Psh. That's what JARVIS is for. Now,” Tony scoots his seat back slightly and gently tugs Bucky's hand towards the virtual arm hovering in front of him, “just slide your hand in there so the program can match up the points to your arm and then just start moving it around. Fingers, wrist, the whole thing.”

Bucky does as he's told, watching the lights go green on Tony's screen to indicate it's ready before curling his fingers one at a time into a fist, then relaxing. He curls them again, this time altogether, then rotates his wrist, moves it back and forth. As he continues through the different movements, he asks, “How are you monitoring the inner workings of the arm?”

“I'm not,” Tony says absently as he watches some numbers scrolling by. “I’m building the internal components basically from the ground up. We're wanting this to weigh less, remember?”

“I just thought you'd prefer to see all the parts at work.”

Tony absently pats his chest, his attention never leaving the numbers. “I've got a Doctorate in Mechanical Engineering, babe, you're safe with me.”

Bucky's heart races at the term. It's hard enough just being around the guy and his gorgeous face. Why does he have to call him “babe”? And in such a smooth, deep voice? And isn’t “babe” more of an intimate term? Not with Tony, Bucky thinks. Bucky's life is supremely unfair.

“Hey, that's something,” Tony murmurs before turning to Bucky. “Can you do that again?”

Bucky desperately hopes he's not blushing. “Can you be specific?”

“Your arm, it twitched. Gave some interesting readings, just wondering if you can do that again.”

“Uh... well, first of all it's a twitch. Not really something I can control, y'see.”

“And what a shame that is. Don't suppose you know what caused it? Maybe we could replicate the scenario? What were you thinking just a few seconds ago?”

There's no way he's answering that. No way is _Oh, just fixating on your face and your lips and how much I'd love to kiss them and drag you to bed or out on a date,_ an answer that will lead to anything good. So he shrugs instead. “Just kinda zoned out, is all. I really think it was just an impulse going on somewhere.”

Tony frowns. That's the frown of someone who knows what's up. Thankfully, he doesn't press further, just turns back to his screen and suggests, “Go through all the motions faster. The more data the better.”

And after his heart stops racing from such a close call, Bucky goes about giving Tony more data.

-*-

Flaws in portraiture were dubious things. Steve could never decide whether they're good or bad. Too many flaws, and the portrait wouldn't portray the subject correctly. Too few flaws, and the portrait looked unnatural. _No such thing as perfect_ , Steve would mumble to himself if he spent too much time agonizing over his sketches. _Their flaws make them beautiful_.

Bucky kind of hates himself, because he thinks he's taking that a bit too far. Yeah, Tony's got flaws. Freckles make rare appearances on his olive skin, and he's beginning to gray. Bucky could stare all day at Tony's wrinkles and probably wax lyrical about their beauty if he wanted to then promptly never show his face in the Tower again. While embarrassing and frustrating, there's nothing wrong with finding something to love about these flaws. Thinking Tony beautiful while he's lying in a hospital bed, pale and bruised, his hair plastered to his face from the sweat beading across his skin? Yeah, Bucky's taken it too far.

He supposes it's better to sit there beside his sleeping teammate and think on his beauty than dwell on how likely he could die. Wait, no, the best thing is to just up and leave like the doctor recommended. But Bucky can't leave Tony alone, knows the man can't stand to wake up in the hospital alone, and knows he has Steve to thank for picking up on that and requesting that a teammate stay behind for safety purposes. No one can argue with Captain America, after all.

It's been a couple days, and maybe a few hours after sunrise. If Bucky was strong enough to look away from Tony's small and still form, he could find the time out for sure thanks to the clock ticking away on the wall. But Bucky never said he was strong.

“Ugh,” he groans, slumping against the bed. “How pathetic can I get?” Apparently he's tired, too, because he somehow has enough guts to take Tony's hand into his. “This is sorta my fault, y'know. I should have been paying better attention to what that guy was setting up. Should've shot him down before he let that EMP go off.” He glances at his metal arm, hale and healthy like the rest of him. “How my arm survived that blast, I don't know. You probably know already, don't you? It _is_ the arm you made, after all.” He tries a smile on, but it's too pained and sad to keep up. “You always love to say that you know everything. And I love humoring you. Better to humor you than tell you what you don't know.”

He sighs, shifts in the stiff plastic seat before he takes a deep breath. Fuck it. It's not like Tony can hear him, anyway. “Like how much you drive me crazy. From day one, did you know that? You just walked in making a commotion, pulling everyone's attention away from me. Don't think I don't know you did that intentionally. I was so thankful; you have no idea. I remember that being my first thought. My second was 'Wow, he is gorgeous.' 'Cause you _are_ gorgeous, Tony. No one's got eyes like yours. Nobody but you could pull off that goatee. And no one could ever age so... so beautifully.” His lips twitch back into a slight smile.

“I could go on all day about your wrinkles. Kiss 'em all day, too, if I knew you wouldn't hate me afterward.” He finally tears his eyes away from Tony, clearing his throat. “It's why I've never made a move. Too scared you wouldn't let me hang around  anymore if all this came to light. Not that I actually think you'd do something so mean. No, you'd try to let me down easy. Just the thought of having a conversation like that with you.” He shakes his head. “It hurts worse. Just thinking about it, I know it would hurt worse. 'Cause this isn't just some lust at first sight thing for me. I'm not the casual sex kinda guy. I may have gone out with my fair share of ladies, but I never went out to just take 'em to bed. They deserved better.” He clenches his jaw, ignores the tightness in his throat. “You deserve better, too. S'why I'm not making a move. You deserve so much better than me.”

“Buck,” Tony's voice is raspy and weak, but it startles Bucky badly.

“T-Tony.” Bucky realizes then his own voice is hoarse, though for obviously different reasons.

Tony looks exhausted despite the sleep, the circles under his eyes almost as dark as the bruises dotting his face. It makes his gaze all the more intense, and Bucky can't stand it. He'd pull away, if Tony wasn't gripping his hand like a vice.

“You... are you-” Tony's interrupted by his own coughing, which sounds pretty painful. Bucky stands while he has the chance and grabs a cup of water for Tony to drink. That's all he can focus on right now, helping Tony drink the water. If he even tries to think about anything else, like what he just confessed right there in front of Tony, he's not sure what would happen. God, how much did he _hear_?

“So, you were hit by an EMP, if that was unclear, but it was probably clear to you, since you're pretty much a genius,” Bucky rambled. “Banner eventually caught you, but you hit at least a couple buildings on the way. So yeah, you were unconscious when Banner brought you to ground. It was quick work after that to get the idiot in cuffs and handed over to whichever government organization decided to wait on us. The machine he set up's been taken down to your workshop, in case you wanna take it apart, study it, or turn it to slag. Whichever satisfies you the most. Steve, Banner, and Thor are all without a scratch. I think Natasha sprained an ankle and got a cut, and Clint is covered in scrapes from his failed attempt at jumping down from his perch with that new grappling arrow prototype thing you made for him. He'll probably have words with you on that. Pepper is probably not happy, again. It makes sense, though, because you always do this, you always take the brunt of it and leave Pepper thinking of the last time you two talked, and then she gets-”

“Bucky, slow down,” Tony's voice, though quiet, cuts through Bucky's words. He goes silent and makes sure not to make eye contact with Tony. So it's after a couple of minutes that the conversation attempts to begin again, with Tony's sighed, “Do we really have to talk about this?”

Bucky tries hard not to flinch back at those words and bows his head further. This was a mistake. This was all a big mistake. He just had to go and open his stupid mouth. He takes extra care that he's still breathing evenly, takes extra care that his throat is clear before saying, without any inflection, “No. No, no need.”

The room is silent once again and Bucky wants to praise and berate Tony for surviving another ridiculous _should've-killed-you_ fall. He wants to pull him into a kiss, damn the consequences. But more than anything, he wants to shoot out of this room and go hide where he never has to see his failure, Tony's rejection ever again.

Another sigh rattles from Tony's chest. “Bucky, listen...”

He doesn't think he could be any more grateful than when Thor bursts in to declare the arrival of the rest of the team. Seconds later, Steve, Natasha, and Clint surround the bed and show their own signs of concern. Bucky mumbles an excuse of being tired and bows out of the room, escaping for the Tower, where he will be sure to lock himself up in his room, where he has been promised no one can enter without his permission.

-*-

When Bucky was first invited into the tower, he noticed a distinct lack of art supplies on Steve's floor. His memory may have been splotchy, but he did remember their tenement practically blanketed with pencils and paper, half-finished sketches and the very rare watercolor. He asked Steve about it, and Steve reluctantly confessed that somewhere along the way he just lost his inspiration. _I tried,_ he had said, _but nothing was coming._

Bucky could read between the lines, could tell his fall was to blame, his death was what really blocked his best friend. Steve was by no means putting that blame on Bucky, but after two years of trying to sketch something out, there was no denying what grief had done to Steve. It was proven even further when Steve started searching after Bucky.

One day, Steve told him, he and Sam were staking out a potential safe house, and Steve only had a pen and a napkin. He didn't remember what happened, but it was like he blinked and there were suddenly the beginnings of Bucky's gloved, metal hand. It wasn't much, but it was a start. That's how the optimist in Steve saw things, anyway.

Bucky's not suffering from grief, not really. And he's not suffering any blocks because of his not-quite grief. But after locking himself in his room, and later begging Steve to not allow anyone onto their floor, it's becoming increasingly difficult to motivate himself to do anything. If Steve weren't there, Bucky knows food would be left by the wayside, along with exercise, reading, and basic enjoyment of anything. Steve keeps telling him that he knows the solution to this, that he just needs to confront Tony and figure all of this out, but Bucky's hurting enough. He knows what Tony's answer is, why does he need to have it shoved in his face even more?

And yeah, maybe he’s being overdramatic about this, but he feels rather justified. Seriously, Tony sounded like the last thing he wanted to do was talk about feelings. Which okay, that’s normal for Tony, but Tony talks with him about Afghanistan, about Stane, about the Palladium poisoning and the breakdown that surrounded that. If he’s willing to share all that with Bucky when he so obviously hates bringing it up, then why the hell are feelings, especially feelings he doesn’t reciprocate, so hard for him to talk about? All he would have to say is, _Sorry Buck, I only really see you as a really close friend, we can stay friends right?_ And then Bucky could be a fucking mature human being and say, _Maybe not at first, but give me some time and don’t stop trying, okay? I want us to stay friends as much as you do._

But Bucky knows that maturity is sort of lacking in this tower. Especially when Steve is not in the gym for the sparring match. Nope, the person standing in the center is instead Tony, and Bucky knows from the apprehensive look on his face that Steve set this up. He can’t help the tightening of his jaw, especially when he tries the door to get back to the elevator and finds himself locked in.

Steps echo hesitantly behind him, and Tony says, “Look, I know it’s shitty to lock you in here…”

“Damn right, it is,” Bucky snaps, turning back around to face Tony dead on. The apprehension has been joined by vulnerability and Bucky snorts at that. Like Tony’s the one who bared himself for the other to see. Like Tony made an ass of himself while trying to ease the pain of seeing a teammate, a best friend, looking so small in a hospital bed. Tony deserves no sympathy, so Bucky gives none. He advances a few steps, glaring Tony down. “Open this goddamn door right now, or so help me…”

Tony frowns, folds his arms. “If I unlock the door,” Tony says, matching Bucky’s sharp tone, “will you talk to me instead of avoiding me like a child?”

“Like you get to call me a child when you’ve been acting like one since the first day I met you.”

“Fuck you, Barnes, I’ve been far from childish. I’ve shared my time, my space, my energy, my goddamn _soul_ with you. Playing a few pranks, pouting at teammates, that doesn’t make me childish. No, if I avoided anyone at the slightest hint of rejection, _that_ would be childish.”

Bucky barely holds back a flinch at that. And he can’t find anything smart to say back because damn it, this _fucking hurts_. He doesn’t need yet another reminder that he’s screwed up in the head, that he’s not going to be happy, that he doesn’t deserve to be happy. He does that enough for himself. He folds his arms, returns his glare onto Tony. “Unlock the fucking door, Tony.”

“You know, I thought I was so obvious,” Tony just bulldozes right over Bucky’s words, “because you would stare right through me, and looked like you had figured everything out. Thought you were just being polite and ignoring it.”

Bucky frowns because Tony’s making no sense.

“Don’t gimme that, it’s happened a lot in this tower. Natasha politely ignoring Clint, Steve politely ignoring Darcy when Thor brings her and Jane around, so yeah, maybe I thought it was just becoming more a theme around here. And I didn’t know whether to be pissed at you or thank you profusely, because it’d only been a couple weeks after Pepper and I split that you appeared, and then one week after that where I realized, ‘Holy shit, this isn’t good,’” And now Tony’s sounding panicked and starting to pick up the pace in his impromptu speech… confession? “I was so sure you’d be disgusted, think you were some rebound after Pep, which _is_ embarrassing and disgusting, but at the same time, I wanted you to at least tell it to me straight so I could pull my head out of the clouds and get back to trying to be your friend first. Not that I didn’t eventually get to that on my own, but I kept thinking it would have been better if you would have just said something. And damn it, why haven’t you said anything? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Bucky’s just standing there, hands limp at his sides, his mouth agape probably unattractively, because yeah, Tony usually makes no sense when he’s ranting, but Bucky’s always been one to read between the lines. And he’s not sure, but he thinks that this really _is_ a confession, that Tony is just taking one step further into sharing his soul. And so of course he has to mentally look back at the last time they were in the same room – which was the hospital, fuck – and he realizes that Tony looked so damn hopeful right in that moment. The sigh, it wasn’t exasperation or disgust. It was Tony having his usual arc-reactor-related breathing problems. But Bucky was too panicked to actually take a second and actually see that hopeful look. Instead, he was all self-pitying and ashamed and holy shit, Tony thought he knew this whole time. He thought Bucky knew Tony’s been carrying a torch for him almost as long as Bucky’s been carrying one for Tony.

Holy shit.

“Wow, this is absolutely assuring,” Tony’s starting to sound pissed, and when Bucky pulls himself out of the memories, he sees Tony’s brow wrinkled in frustration. “Thanks for affirming that I was right to be embarrassed about this.”

“Tony…”

“No, really, you’re a real champ, holding in all that man pain, all that ‘my friend’s in love with me and I have to sacrifice myself to him to keep him happy’.”

“Damn it, Tony, that’s not-”

“Because of course, I’m the one who’s really fucked up in the head, the one who fucked his head up all on his own, gotta strengthen the weakest link to keep this team together.”

Bucky’s back to glaring, more out of frustration than anything, moving forward. “Tony, for fuck’s sake, shut up!”

“Oh yeah?” Tony growls and advances as well, bumping up against Bucky’s chest. “You gonna make me? Go ahead, Barnes, fucking make- mmph!”

Bucky can’t take it anymore, can’t hold back as he grabs Tony’s face and kisses him firmly. At first, Tony just stares, eyes wide in surprise and body – finally – still. But just as Bucky pulls away to apologize, break down the door, hide somewhere, _do anything but this_ , Tony cups the back of his neck and capture’s Bucky’s lips into something much less awkward, much more heated. When he feels Tony’s tongue brush almost shyly across the seam of his lips, Bucky groans into Tony’s mouth, letting the man make the kiss deeper. His hands drift, one up into Tony’s hair and one down to wrap around Tony’s waist, pull him closer.

All those words they threw at each other, and it takes a kiss to finally get the message through their skulls. So much for being mature adults.

Bucky pulls away to catch his breath, but keeps Tony close, their ragged breath mingling together. “You think,” he says faintly, “that I’d say all that shit back in the hospital, and not mean it?”

Tony continues panting for a few seconds, blinking dazedly, “In… in my defense… I was high on pain meds.”

Bucky sighs, brushes his nose gently against Tony’s. “Do I need to say it all again?”

Tony’s hand squeezes his neck. “Mm. Maybe later. We’ve got some catching up to do first, I think.”

Yeah, Bucky’s not missing any of that. But later, he’ll tell Tony everything. Later, he’ll tell Tony how he fell for him almost the same day they met. Later, he’ll list every gorgeous thing about Tony, from the curls on his head to the shape of his legs, from the private smiles he shares when he’s truly happy to the tenor of his voice when he soothes away Bucky’s nightmares. Later, he’ll call Tony a gorgeous genius with a gorgeous heart, so big and broken. Later, he’ll tell Tony how he loves the pet names and how he dreams of hearing those names more often, but in the privacy of their rooms.

Later, he’ll paint a portrait of Tony with words, and then wrap the man up in his arms. Tony deserves to know how important he is, after all.


End file.
